


wicked games

by mornen



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Rain, Storm - Freeform, Wrestling, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24061366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mornen/pseuds/mornen
Summary: A moment between Aragorn and Boromir in Rivendell*Boromir  wasn’t dressed for the rain, but he didn’t move as it soaked through his clothes. Aragorn didn’t move either. They stood together, and the clouds changed from silver to deep grey.Aragorn turned to Boromir, but Boromir didn’t look at him. The wind picked up. The trees bent with it. It came so quickly, this storm.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	wicked games

Boromir sat on the slope of a hill outside the main house of Rivendell. He watched the river run. Pippin sat not far from him, reading a book of history. The wind swept through the pines. It was an overcast day, and the wind coming down into the valley was cold and carried the scent of snow.

Aragorn came out from a small grove of lilacs, which had already lost their leaves. He came up behind Boromir, smiling. Boromir eyed him. Aragorn was up to no good.

‘Hello, friend,’ Aragorn said, keeping his hands behind his back.

‘Hey,’ Boromir said.

Aragorn stuck a pine-cone in Boromir’s clean, combed hair. He tangled it there.

Boromir whirled on him and shoved him against a tree. Aragorn gripped Boromir's shoulders. He pushed at him. Boromir shoved back.

'Listen, you,’ Boromir said, voice low. ‘I had a little brother who played stupid jokes like that.'

'So?' Aragorn fixed him with a challenging look. ‘What’d you do about it?’

'Dunked him in the river.'

‘Too bad you can’t do that to me.’ Aragorn shoved free. 'I won't let you.'

Boromir grabbed Aragorn again and pushed him down onto the ground, knee to his back. Aragorn groaned at the impact. He tried to kick but had no real leverage. He tried pushing up but couldn't make any real headway.

Boromir licked his lip. He was already sweating. There was no way he'd be able to haul Aragorn down to the river and push him in.

'Let me up,' Aragorn said.

'No.'

Aragorn squirmed. He got one hand on the ground and managed to flip Boromir off him.

'Ha!' Aragorn pounced on Boromir and pushed him down onto the grass. He wrapped his long limbs around him.

Boromir pushed up against him hard. He forced them over again. Now he was on top of Aragorn but still trapped in his grasp.

‘Listen to me,’ Boromir said. ‘You play wicked games, you get punished.’

‘I’m not Faramir,’ Aragorn said. ‘And you’re not my older brother.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Boromir said.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. Boromir broke free and ran up the slope of the hill. Aragorn sprang up and chased after him. Aragorn caught hold of him, one arm around his waist. Boromir spun around and grabbed Aragorn and threw him down. He pressed Aragorn’s arms underneath his body, using his weight to keep him still.

'Got you.’ Boromir stared down at Aragorn for a long moment. The sun was trying to show, and the clouds were lit silver like Aragorn’s eyes.

'I'm sick of you children,' Pippin announced loudly.

Boromir started. He’d forgotten Pippin was there. He’d forgotten they weren’t alone, that they were in Rivendell, that you could see this hill from the high windows of Elrond’s house.

'Shut it,' Aragorn said to Pippin.

‘I take offence to that!’ Pippin picked up his book and marched into the house.

Boromir got off Aragorn.

Aragorn stood up. He untangled the pine-cone from Boromir’s hair. He dropped it, and it bounced twice and rolled to a stop on the moss. He gently combed out Boromir’s hair with his fingers.

‘Thank you,’ Boromir said.

Slowly it started to rain. Aragorn watched the clouds. Boromir did too. The darkest ones coming over the top of the ridge were feathered on the bottom where the rain fell. It came in a sweep. It hit them both at once, cold rain sharp like ice.

Aragorn reached for Boromir’s hand. His fingers brushed along the side of Boromir’s hand. They felt too warm to be just a man’s fingers in an autumn rain storm. Boromir could pick out each spot Aragorn’s skin met his. He would always remember the places their hands brushed.

He wasn’t dressed for the rain, but he didn’t move as it soaked through his clothes. Aragorn didn’t move either. They stood together, and the clouds changed from silver to deep grey.

Aragorn turned to Boromir, but Boromir didn’t look at him. The wind picked up. The trees bent with it. It came so quickly, this storm.

Aragorn grabbed Boromir’s hand. Their fingers slipped together easily, fingers twined, fingers pressed, the touch gentle, their callouses and bones hard. They fit together easily, their hands. Boromir turned to Aragorn, but Aragorn’s face was turned away again. He pulled on Boromir’s hand as he ran up the slope, and Boromir ran after him. As they ran, Aragorn released his hand. They went into the house one first, and then the other.


End file.
